A brave work of art, V V Brown is holding the reins this time around. This is the sound of an artist breaking away from the shackles of the corporate music world's cookie-cutter, pop star mold.

Samson & Delilah

A provocative, menacing beast has arrived with the release of V V Brown's polarizing sophomore album Samson & Delilah. Rarely does an artist reinvent themselves in so drastic a manner, that their previous incarnation sounds like that of a completely different musician. The retro-leaning, R&B, soul and rock & roll texture of her debut album Traveling Like The Light has been replaced with avant-garde synth pop, epic in scope and icy cold in delivery. Some may balk at the theatrical grandeur of this stunt, but it's so skillfully produced, arranged and constructed that I couldn't help but succumb to the dark beauty of it all.

The Biblical concept album Samson & Delilah feels like it was purposely crafted to erase all memory of her debut album, and in that, it wholeheartedly succeeds in forging a completely different identity for Brown. She's now more like Grace Jones and the glacial histrionics of early Eurythmics, blended with the aggressiveness of the Knife or Fever Ray, than anything resembling a British version of Janelle Monae. The latter comparison that hounded her debut, can finally be put to rest with this album. One listen and it's apparent that this is the sound of an artist breaking away from the shackles of the corporate music world's cookie-cutter, pop star mold. Brown is holding the reins this time around and doing things entirely on her own terms.

Her original sophomore effort Lollipops and Politics was scrapped right before its release date in 2012, and produced a rather irksome single, "Children" with Philly's Chiddy of former pop-rap group Chiddy Bang. At the time, I was anything but impressed and I dreaded an entire record of similar songs, but it appears the ten track album wasn't up to par with her standards anyway. It disappeared and so did V V once again, into the studio to collaborate with previous engineer Laurence Aldridge, Pierre-Marie Maulini of M83, Pascal Gabriel of Bomb the Bass and Dave Okumu, whose wizardly studio talents elevated the stellar songs of Jessie Ware's debut Devotion to loftier heights. The resulting effort is a wonder to behold.

First track "Substitute For Love" announces both a stylistic change in what we've come to expect of V V Brown's music and a completely different vocal presentation. When the official video for "Samson" arrived, I thought my ears were playing tricks on me, as I watched the Biblical, black and white kabuki theatrics on the screen. Reminiscent of the time when Imogen Heap left the husky timbre of IMegaphone behind and reappeared singing an octave higher than before, with her band Frou Frou, Brown has returned to defy all expectation. No longer bright, forward and ringing, the darker, richer contralto offered up is borderline operatic and honestly a thousands times more interesting than its predecessor.

The first two songs "Substitute For Love" and "Nothing Really Matters" immediately call to mind the similarly titled tracks from Madonna's game-changing album Ray of Light. While I acknowledge that this could be merely coincidental, it's worth noting nonetheless, and I can imagine multiple reviews of Samson & Delilah will pick up on this. Brown has completely revamped her image, her sonic approach and her voice, so it's possible that Madge's experimental record had some influence. She sings, "I'll be your drug, I'll be your heroin / Put me inside your veins and let me in" as majestically-paced, Active Child-like atmospherics cloak the song in melancholy desperation. This is a far cry from the sassy, empowered brassiness of "Game Over" or anything off her sugar-laced, poppy debut album.

"Nothing Really Matters" continues the self-deprecation, blame and introspective lyricism, but with constantly swirling, arpeggiated synths that thrusts the drama forward. A definite highlight of the record, the repetitive chorus firmly embeds itself in the mind. Eerily-threatening third track "Samson", recounts the moment when Delilah cut off the hair of her lover and diluted his strength. It seemed a rather odd choice for a first single, with it's cantankerous, thundering percussion, but it fits perfectly in the context of the rest of the record. Challenging her creativity even further, she successfully attempts to broaden her palate even more by rapping on the claustrophobic, dupstep-laden "Igneous", while later presenting a gorgeous, emotional snapshot of a dissolving relationship in "Knife".

The album is split between brooding, drama-laced ballads and a few throbbing, cuts like "I Can Give You More". With it's overly-processed, stuttering vocals, the track continues the tribal aesthetic presented by "Samson", but amps up the bass. Therein, lies the only problem I can see with the record. On a few tracks, the production muddles the vocals to the point where the text Brown is trying to convey, becomes completely obfuscated. That might have been her point. It's possible she was going for mood over lyrical clarity, and this pops up multiple times during the record, in the aforementioned "Samson" and the hazy, glacially-paced, but poignant closer "Beginning". Tis a minor quibble though.

Enthralling, second single "The Apple", "Faith" and "Ghosts" are presented as sort of uptempo trilogy in the second half of the record. "The Apple" is the most accessible of all the songs on Samson & Delilah, has a distinctly retro '80s flair, and is remix ripe for the picking. Optimistic track "Faith" is a collaboration between producer Laurence Aldridge and Brown, yet while the male vocals of the duet go unlisted, one is to assume they belong to Aldridge himself. It's one of the few points in the album when the sunlight pours through. Brown has said "Ghosts" was inspired by the Drive soundtrack and it instantly calls to mind the former brilliance of Annie Lennox's overflowing creativity three decades ago.

Singer-songwriter, model, producer, record label CEO (YOY Records), and fashion designer Vanessa Brown wears many a creative hat. Confounding expectations seems to be her modus operandi and I wouldn't be surprised if her third record sounds nothing like either of her previous releases. Whether this foray into a darker territory will prove fruitful or not, remains to be seen, as there are no radio-friendly singles like "Shark in the Water" to be found. Her fans have eagerly awaited a followup to her 2009 debut and now that it has arrived, it'll be interesting to see how this will be received by the public at large. Regardless of its commercial success, count me as one of the dazzled disciples. Samson & Delilah is a brave work of art.

White Hills epic '80s callback
Stop Mute Defeat is a determined march against encroaching imperial darkness; their eyes boring into the shadows for danger but they're aware that blinding lights can kill and distort truth. From "Overlord's" dark stomp casting nets for totalitarian warnings to "Attack Mode", which roars in with the tribal certainty that we can survive the madness if we keep our wits, the record is a true and timely win for Dave W. and Ego Sensation. Martin Bisi and the poster band's mysterious but relevant cool make a great team and deliver one of their least psych yet most mind destroying records to date. Much like the first time you heard Joy Division or early Pigface, for example, you'll experience being startled at first before becoming addicted to the band's unique microcosm of dystopia that is simultaneously corrupting and seducing your ears. - Morgan Y. Evans

The year in song reflected the state of the world around us. Here are the 70 songs that spoke to us this year.

70. The Horrors - "Machine"

On their fifth album V, the Horrors expand on the bright, psychedelic territory they explored with Luminous, anchoring the ten new tracks with retro synths and guitar fuzz freakouts. "Machine" is the delicious outlier and the most vitriolic cut on the record, with Faris Badwan belting out accusations to the song's subject, who may even be us. The concept of alienation is nothing new, but here the Brits incorporate a beautiful metaphor of an insect trapped in amber as an illustration of the human caught within modernity. Whether our trappings are technological, psychological, or something else entirely makes the statement all the more chilling. - Tristan Kneschke

"...when the history books get written about this era, they'll show that the music community recognized the potential impacts and were strong leaders." An interview with Kevin Erickson of Future of Music Coalition.

Last week, the musician Phil Elverum, a.k.a. Mount Eerie, celebrated the fact that his album A Crow Looked at Me had been ranked #3 on the New York Times' Best of 2017 list. You might expect that high praise from the prestigious newspaper would result in a significant spike in album sales. In a tweet, Elverum divulged that since making the list, he'd sold…six. Six copies.

Under the lens of cultural and historical context, as well as understanding the reflective nature of popular culture, it's hard not to read this film as a cautionary tale about the limitations of isolationism.

I recently spoke to a class full of students about Plato's "Allegory of the Cave". Actually, I mentioned Plato's "Allegory of the Cave" by prefacing that I understood the likelihood that no one had read it. Fortunately, two students had, which brought mild temporary relief. In an effort to close the gap of understanding (perhaps more a canyon or uncanny valley) I made the popular quick comparison between Plato's often cited work and the Wachowski siblings' cinema spectacle, The Matrix. What I didn't anticipate in that moment was complete and utter dissociation observable in collective wide-eyed stares. Example by comparison lost. Not a single student in a class of undergraduates had partaken of The Matrix in all its Dystopic future shock and CGI kung fu technobabble philosophy. My muted response in that moment: Whoa!

Allen Ginsberg and Robert Lowell at St. Mark's Church in New York City, 23 February 1977

Scholar Christopher Grobe crafts a series of individually satisfying case studies, then shows the strong threads between confessional poetry, performance art, and reality television, with stops along the way.

Tracing a thread from Robert Lowell to reality TV seems like an ominous task, and it is one that Christopher Grobe tackles by laying out several intertwining threads. The history of an idea, like confession, is only linear when we want to create a sensible structure, the "one damn thing after the next" that is the standing critique of creating historical accounts. The organization Grobe employs helps sensemaking.